


Gallo rojo, gallo negro

by mrsilikemyself



Series: 80s hs critrole au [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Critical Role Relationship Week, Fantasy Racism, Gen, Underage Drinking, be gay do crimes, its actually also an 80s au but it doesnt look like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsilikemyself/pseuds/mrsilikemyself
Summary: “Of course,” he still sounds pretty smooth. “Just sell me a pack of cigarettes first, will you? Whatever brand you prefer.”





	Gallo rojo, gallo negro

**Author's Note:**

> i. honestly forgot abt this one even tho i already had it finished bc im still working on days five and seven. anyways day six nott & molly for the masses
> 
> title is a song by chico sanchez ferlosio, spanish anarchist singer/songwriter, tho he wrote this one during his communist phase. the black cock is fascism guess what the red one is (((funfact this was written during the dictatorship but a lot of ppl think its a civil war song! i guess none of u were expecting to learn this much abt spain in the notes section of a critical role fic but sometimes ure (technically) from spain nd gotta infodump)))
> 
> unbetaed

Mollymauk sits on the floor, outside of a gas station. His mohawk, usually so proud, hangs over one side in a greasy heap, and he’s lost his leather jacket. He looks defeated, shivering in the night as he is.

“Hey,” says Nott, appearing from the shadows.

“Good morning,” sighs Molly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she says.

“Saturday?” he looks up at her, with the careful movements of someone that’s consumed a lot of alcohol.

Nott sits next to him and shakes her head.

“Sunday,” she says.

Molly hums.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he says. “And here I thought I had a day to get my shit together.”

Nott grimaces but doesn’t disagree, and takes the bottle in the brown paper bag from between his legs with nimble fingers. It’s very cheap vodka and it burns like a bad fuck down her throat.

“I couldn’t have known, right?” asks Mollymauk. “That my band’s drummer was a fiend?” he laughs wetly, the saddest sound Nott’s ever heard come out of him. “It’s not as if I know shit, right?”

“Well,” says Nott.

“Just give me back my alcohol,” whines Molly and she complies. 

He goes to take a gulp but there’s barely anything left and he throws the bottle against the floor, where it breaks with a loud noise. He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes until fireflies dance behind his eyelid, and breathes very deeply.

“I had a good thing here,” he mutters, his voice trembling. “I was doing good things with, with good people and now I have killed a man.”

“A fiend,” corrects Nott.

“A man!” yells Molly. “He was a man to me.”

A little ding makes Nott turn towards the gas station and, framed by the door, she sees a pimply teenager wearing ill-fitting work clothes. His face is impassive.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Molly gets up and stumbles a bit. 

“Of course,” he still sounds pretty smooth. “Just sell me a pack of cigarettes first, will you? Whatever brand you prefer.”

The guy stares unimpressed at Molly but opens up the door to let him through.

“Sure,” he says. “Just don’t puke on anything.”

“Thank you,” Molly says with the flash of a smile as he enters.

When the guy goes to close the door, Nott bustles in, crashing into his legs.

“Oh, sorry!” she says, half running to Molly’s side.

“Yeah,” says the guy, with a frown. “I didn’t see you there.”

“She is short,” smiles Molly and it must be especially sharp because the clerk just frowns and goes behind the counter to busy himself with the tobacco display, turning his back to them.

Molly sighs and lays against the counter as Nott stares at some keyrings, hanging just at eye level with her. The guy, Andrew says his badge, turns around and throws a packet at Molly just as Nott stretches a knotty finger towards the shinies.

“You have to pay for those,” he practically spits towards Nott.

“Of course,” intervenes Molly, waving the cigarettes around and making Andrew the jerk clerk look at him instead. “You have to tell me how much they are first, though.”

For a moment, they all stand, tense. Behind Molly and his smile, Nott closes her hand around a knife, ready to jump, but Andrew seems to decide it’s not worth it.

“Six forty-five,” he says through gritted teeth.

“And a keyring, for my friend,” continues to smile Molly.

“That’s eight dollars and seventy-five cents,” Andrew says. “Pay and get out, and don’t come back.”

“What’s with the hurry?” says Molly, languidly taking out his wallet from his jean’s back pocket. “It’s not as if there’s a queue or you have to close shop, right? Hey, Nott, do you have seventy-five cents? I only have 10 dollar bills.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and huffs out of his nose as Nott looks into her pockets and starts taking a little mountain of cents, one at a time.

“I can give you change,” he mutters.

“But I want to pay exactly what you said!” says Molly, straightening up. “If we don’t even try, that’s just chaos, isn’t it?”

Nott hums in agreement, staring at Andrew with her very big eyes as she pushes her little mountain of coins forwards.

“There you go,” Molly says, putting his bill on the counter. “Ten dollars and seventy-five cents, for the good of society. And you can even keep the change.”

“Great,” says Andrew. “Now out.”

“Kindly,” Molly courtesies walking backwards.

“Go fuck yourself,” says Nott, slipping away behind him.

Outside, as they walk away, Molly starts to giggle. Nott looks at him and from somewhere in his skinny jeans he reveals three keyrings: the one he bought and two more. Nott snorts.

“Look at this,” she says, then, taking from seemingly nowhere Andrew’s wallet and five keyrings more.

Molly bursts out laughing.


End file.
